


A Coward's Heart

by afteriwake



Series: forward movement (slow but steady) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Changed Minds, Couch Cuddles, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fake Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Molly Deserves The Best, Molly Says No, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Realization, Scared Sherlock, Sherlock Cares, Sherlock Changes His Mind, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Loves Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Talking, cheek kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-04-06 06:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14050557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: Sherlock doesn't want to admit how he feels about Molly, not even to himself. But in order to keep her in his life and pull off a ruse, he'll have to overcome his coward's heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mychakk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mychakk/gifts).



> This fic is a belated Sherlolly Secret Santa gift for **mychakk** with the prompt " _fake relationship (I have this idea that Molly actually denies Sherlock's request and it's Sherlock's moment of ephinany: but I actually was looking forward to having you as a girlfriend/wife/date, crap, I want you for real as my girlfriend/wife/date)_."

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Sherlock blinked as the words slipped out of Molly’s mouth. Surely this wasn’t too much to ask of her, was it? To help him perpetrate a ruse to catch a killer? All she would do was pretend to be his wife. That wasn’t so much to ask, not really.

“Why?” he asked, his brain not entirely comprehending her refusal.

She sighed and looked down at her left hand. Where her engagement ring had been if he was following her line of sight correctly. “It’s...complicated,” she said finally.

“Then please, uncomplicate it for me,” he asked.

“I won’t go through it unless it’s real,” she said. “Not again. Not...with you.” He could see her cheeks tinging red. “I need to go.”

“Molly...” he began, but she was already on her way to putting her scarf on and scurrying out the door. He watched in silent contemplation while she made her escape and then stared at the void she left in her stead. It was a simple request. Why had she refused?

 _Because she loves you, you dolt,_ he thought to himself. _It would be play pretend with you. She deserves better._

But he wasn’t in the position to give better. His heart was battered and bruised and three sizes too small. Even though he cared...

He cared.

That thought stopped him cold. He cared about not hurting her. He cared about her, in ways he could barely comprehend. Not because he didn’t understand emotion, no, but because he refused to feel them if at all possible. And to give his heart, even to someone like Molly who he knew would treat it with care...it was too much.

He wasn’t ready.

But he had, in some small way, looked forward to the charade. The chance to spend time with her. Time reminiscent of the day of cases.

 _But that couldn’t happen because of Tom,_ his mind raged at him. _And Tom is gone and you won’t take his place because you are a coward. The biggest coward, and the biggest fool._

He shook his head, trying to silence the thoughts. He needed to think. Quietly, if at all possible. He sat on his chair and shut his eyes, blocking out everything. He needed to sort this out, once and for all.

Before it was too late.


	2. Chapter 2

“What do you want of me?”

He hadn’t even given her time to give him any sort of greeting when he’d arrived at her home and knocked on her door, a curious change for him, he knew, since she was used to him letting himself in as he pleased. He had a key, after all, a key he’d taken with him even on his travels to take down the network and kept even as she had given her heart and the promise of marriage to another man. A key that he had always known had been more than just a way for him to let himself into his bolt hole without picking her lock, but it hadn’t been important before.

It was now, though.

He watched her close the door behind him and walk to the sitting room from the foyer. He didn’t quite walk by her side, more like following, as he hoped he would do from here on out. Following her lead, following her wishes, because he had realized he couldn’t do without her. No, he needed her in a way he needed few others, and cared in a way he cared for few others, and that was something...different. Almost foreign to him.

And he needed her to explain what, exactly, she wanted from him.

She sat on her sofa and put her elbows on her thighs, resting her chin in her hands. “Honesty,” she said after a moment. “No more lies. We’re truthful with each other about everything.”

“You mean like Janine,” he said, pacing in front of her.

“No, Sherlock, I mean _everything_. I mean, I understand things your brother insists I don’t have the clearance for but that’s different. What you’re thinking. How you’re feeling. What _you_ want, whether you want something in the first place. Just...honesty.”

“Not trust?” he asked, pausing in his movements.

“I already trust you,” she said. “You haven’t disabused me of that, yet.”

It was the " _yet_ " that worried him but he began pacing again. “And what else?”

“We’re partners. Not the same type you are with John and Mary but we have to rely on each other. Or, I mean...” She trailed off. “I have to be important enough to you that you make me a part of your life.”

“Do you want a sexual relationship with me?”

“Not now. Maybe not ever. Shagging isn’t your thing, is it?” she asked, tilting her head.

“When it comes to you I have...thoughts. Urges.” He watched her eyes widen. “I almost kissed your lips the day of our adventure but I knew you were with him and you cared and I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to make you choose.”

“Because you knew I would choose you?” she asked.

“Because I wasn’t sure,” he said, frowning. “This, between us, it’s complicated. I have no idea where or how to tread, and I’m a coward. I’ve run from...us. But I’m willing to try. To see where it goes at the pace and way you want it to.”

She stood up and moved to stop him, her hand touching his arm and then when he turned to face her, she gently touched his face. “Sherlock, the partnership? It extends to this, too. We talk. We make decisions together, you and I both. It’s not I lead, you follow. We’re going to walk the path together, alright?”

He nodded, hesitating a moment and then pulling her close against him. He didn’t need a kiss or a shag, but comfort. He needed a balm of comfort for the roiling inside him, and as she slipped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest, he felt the calm descend, slowly and then more surely. He may be a coward, but he would at least try. Whether she helped him with his ruse or not, it didn’t matter. What they had was real, and that would be worth working on.


	3. Chapter 3

He had to force himself to not look at everything as a series of tests. As though if he did or said the wrong thing she would leave, leave him alone to flounder in the dark. She was more than a light, she was a balm and a treasure and he just knew without her, he’d be lost. But he still needed her to agree to be his fake wife for the case. He wouldn’t ask anyone else, though he knew Mary would probably agree in a heartbeat. And it just seemed...wrong…to ask that favour of anyone else while they were...something.

Feelings. He hated how complicated they made things, but part of him was also grateful for them. Without fond feelings towards John, he never would have befriended Mary. Though most would say that was something he shouldn’t have done, not after the incident in Magnussen’s apartment, he still cared. She’d had her reasons, just as he’d had his, and they’d intersected at the wrong time in the wrong place. Those feelings towards her had been why he had made his own later actions, though they should have cost him his freedom.

And yet he couldn’t really see playacting at being her husband with any manner of convincing people. While he loved her he was not _in_ love with here, and therein lay the conundrum.

Was he in love with Molly? He thought he could be. Was he sure? Never. He had no idea what it was to truly love someone, had only seen his parent’s relationship as proof, but it didn’t seem the same. There were so many questions he had and only one person to ask. She had, after all, requested honesty.

“If I don’t love you, what will you do?” he asked one evening after they agreed to see what they could be, with her leaning against him on the sofa at her flat, the telly on in the background with some insipid movie which was more background noise than anything else. “I don’t want to hurt you, but it wouldn’t be fair to you, would it?”

“No, it wouldn’t be fair,” she agreed. “But even if you never say the words, if I can tell, that will be something.”

“How would you tell?” he asked.

“The way you treat me. If you respect me. If you care. I think, for you, caring immensely could be the same as love. Maybe not, I’m not entirely sure, but it could be. If you aren’t bored of me we’ll have a chance.”

“I won’t get bored of you,” he said, almost appalled that she had even made the suggestion. “You are...you. Molly. You’re special, and you’re kind, and while some of the things you do may be boring, even a night spent like this is less boring than dinner with my family.”

She laughed at that and he relaxed, feeling her melt against him. Tentatively he wrapped his arms around her and she gave him a contented sigh. “I’ll do it, by the way. The fake marriage.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll figure out some other way of pulling it off.” He was surprised by the answer, but it slipped out of his mouth, this bit of truth, as easily as lies had in the past. “I don’t want anyone else to play at being my girlfriend or wife or any of it, but if I could hurt you than I don’t want to do that, either.”

She pulled away and for a moment he was afraid he had said something wrong, but she turned to face him and leaned forward, her lips brushing the corner of his as she pressed them to his cheek. Then she turned again and settled against him. “If you’re sure, Sherlock.”

“I am,” he murmured, feeling warmer than he had in ages. Yes. This was the right choice, by far.


End file.
